


Tender Age // Teenage Angst

by HomesickAlien



Category: Dragon Quest XI
Genre: Dragon Quest XI Act II Spoilers, M/M, but this one is long so i will call it ‘a testament to how many times i can cockblock the hero’ lol, im sorry because i still don’t know how to tag fics so that people read them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25186063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HomesickAlien/pseuds/HomesickAlien
Summary: Surrounded by this universe of love and hate, confusion breaks through and dwells.
Relationships: Camus | Erik/Hero | Luminary (Dragon Quest XI)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	Tender Age // Teenage Angst

It’s like watching a small animal, lost in a big bright world.

One that’s curious unlike any other, and yet so quiet and awkward. Fumbling about each new area they happen across with an indecipherable stare, wide eyes; In the afternoon he pokes at monsters by the bayside, and in the evening he’s catching fires playing mage. He’s always causing messes, learning the ways of the world by trial and error— Trapped at the age on the cusp of _adulthood_ and _being a child,_ still. And his partner is neither far behind him nor that much ahead; He’s become a caretaker by circumstance alone.

Erik is just keeping up with the passing times, to figure out himself. What it means to attain forgiveness, or what it means to be a ‘hero.’ He’s still uncertain of it all, but the pride in the Hero’s eyes when he shares the result of his training brings a smile too innocent to be his own. It plants the seed of change in his chest, immature and still so misunderstood. The whole world seems to have returned to zero, in that moment they’d first met; Died off at the clifftop, and reborn in its sea.

He wonders what it is they’d sacrificed to make it to the bottom, that day. Perhaps it’s simply the benefit of being the Goddess’ favorite child, but for Erik it holds much more meaning than that. An irreplaceable memory, a day that marks the beginning of a journey. And for him alone, the very moment for which he could do away with the chains of regret binding him there, in the dark undergrounds of Heliodor. 

Between the state of life and death is the start of destiny. Carrying away this heavy, lifeless body on his lithe shoulders to safety, he watches the whole world stop, and begin anew.

The Hero, he’s quiet, but he isn’t diffident.

It’s taken some time for Erik to adjust to, even in spite of experience. His little sister’s foul mouth is direct and easy to translate. For one who speaks obtusely to avoid awkward feelings, seldom if at all, yet puts his entire faith in Erik to decide what it means… Well, that’s another story. 

Certainly, the Hero could do worse for a companion acquainted within a dungeon, though. 

The Hero _is_ rather dissident, often wandering off in the city, or out of it completely, and never with a purpose but always with a distinct expression. Erik keeps track of them, the dissuade dissatisfaction of a cluttered place, and yet still the warm face when tasked by a stranger for help on a quest. Though he’s supposed to lead the journey, the times do often come that he’s walking behind Erik. More accurately, dragged by, like the _evil whatever_ is going to defeat itself or something. Maybe it’s just an excuse to hold hands, though; The Hero never actively objects to it.

This doesn’t mean anything.

There’s one expression that gets to Erik, though. It keeps him up in the evenings, during a particularly cloudy night that betrays the stars. There’s still one that’s brighter than all the rest, one that sheds the Hero’s soul. He squints as he stares at it, until his eyes burn and it becomes unbearable to watch any longer.

He turns on his side to face him; A cloudy night sky, that suits the Hero well. Always staring aimlessly, a hundred thoughts swirling above his head, but they are all so indifferent. His eyes shift to meet Erik’s, in something between a half-hearted glare, or glazed eyes that are defying sleep. Erik smiles softly at that.

“Say, sorry about earlier. It must not be easy, being the legendary hero and all.”

The Hero tilts his head, although it’s more awkward an expression while laying on his back. Back and forth, humming quietly to himself in thought, before it clicks. _Ah,_ he shoots up, crossed legs, looking down Erik with a serious face. “Y’mean Cobblestone? It’s alright… You weren’t wrong.”

It doesn’t take much for the Hero to start fiddling around. Even on a night like this, the moon is bright beneath the clouds, it’s soft glow illuminating all the features he’d like to hide away in the darkness. His troubled face, that can’t understand much of the last several days of his life, and maybe is just trying to delete them completely from his memories. Whatever it takes to keep moving forward, and more importantly, to not have to dwell on the death of his hometown. Of all the faces he’ll never be able to see again… He balls his hand in a fist in his lap.

“You’re right. Nothing’s gonna change, sitting on my— Ah.. Ow!!”

Erik pulls at the Hero’s ear, his pained face a lot more expressive than his dull bemoaning. And really, more dramatic, as if Erik had cut it off completely; This Hero is a little spoiled, he thinks. 

He guesses now he’ll never really know, but somehow he was looking forward to meeting whoever it was that’d raised such an interesting person. Smiling, he releases the Hero, who recoils back immediately. Like a cat that’s been sprayed with water.

“It’s good to be sad, sometimes. A hero can cry, too, you know.”

Though both stagnant, the Hero seems to stop in his tracks at the proclamation. Like it’s the very first time he’s heard the statement, _though that certainly can’t be the case,_ it feels special this time around. To hear it in a time that actually has meaning, from his own peer… that even when he hadn’t really felt the need to, those stray tears slowly begin slipping through the cracks. 

He must be strange, to be so trusting of someone he’s known perhaps all of five or so days. Maybe it’s best to get comfortable early on, _surely this journey isn’t going to come to a close anytime soon._ Maybe there’s just something innate about their communion— Hard to deny fate when it covers the whole of your hand, after all.

But how long can one live on destiny alone? There must be more to it than that, but his experience is limited to handful of years in a small village hidden behind mountaintops. It’s not like he’s what one would call a social butterfly or anything. There’s still time for him. To learn, to grow, to bloom. 

His heart is pounding. As frantic as his own conflicting emotions. Is that what it means? To be a _hero_?

“What’s that weird look for. You’d better get some sleep, or you won’t be able to do much of anything at all.”

Those clouds are only growing thicker, with every passing experience, another brick placed in the tower. He wonders when the rain will come, washing away the progress and starting it again with a bright rainbow in the great azure. He has a destination, but no actual map to get there, not like the ceremony to officiating adulthood. 

Maybe if they walked a little faster, he could have asked his mom about these things. _Which mom?_ That, too, is… 

“Eleven.”

It’s offputting to hear his name slip from Erik’s lips. It’s not exactly a first, but the transition from being called by title to name has been rather inconsistent. He wonders if this makes them something like friends now, he’s only ever had one to compare it to. _Gemma…_ Dwell on it too long, and the rain will come pouring again.

That, of course, and that to dwell is to let one’s guard down completely. To dwell is to not notice Erik pulling him down by his shoulder, this rough grip keeping him from struggling. “Look, the sun’s already rising now and you haven’t slept a wink.” He scolds him with a kind face. 

“You haven’t either.”

“I guess not!” Erik laughs, but it doesn’t change the Hero’s defeated look. “Only ‘cause of you though.”

The Hero sighs, but it’s true; the clouds might disguise the time of day, but now he’s absolutely struggling to keep his eyes open. Surely, if he sleeps in the day time, he’ll wake up from the nightmare of _the chosen one_ back to his nice bed in Cobblestone. “It’s hard to sleep on the ground, you know. My back hurts.” He whines, but it all rings hollow. 

This really is his life now, huh. How is he gonna defeat some great evil _demonlord…_ Or whatever it was. _Demonspawn._ Isn’t that what the knights called him? Maybe his grandpa really did get it all wrong. 

What a laugh that would be. 

“Say, Eleven.” Erik’s voice resounds softly, barely above a whisper, or maybe the Hero is just drifting away into his dreams, now. “Don’t ever go losing that innocence of yours.”

Erik’s hand on the Hero’s shoulder wanders to the Hero’s head, gently ruffling his hair. Even as he’d complained, he’s never felt so comfortable. The flame of a leftover fire putting itself out as it crackles, he wonders if he’ll remember the words when he wakes, or if his chest will still feel so tight. 

“Be honest with your feelings, and kind and optimistic… I’m sure that’s what it means to be a _luminary.”_

This doesn’t mean anything at all.

The Hero will wander off far ahead in every new town, sidetracked, poking his nose everywhere it doesn’t belong, and still somehow clings to Erik’s back when it comes to _call and response_ situations. A question from villagers, being called out to by strangers, and most definitely being interrogated by a so-so terrifying little girl. 

Sometimes, Erik thinks the Hero is playing him. But it still makes him feel special, if just for the moment. Erik’s a modest type who, despite his own advices, would never say his feelings directly. That said, the warm sensation of the Hero whispering in his ear feels eternally singed against his skin. It’s so hot sometimes, he struggles to stay focused on the words being relayed. When evening comes, he holds the left side of his head tightly, facing the gaping chasm; The whole world is simultaneously so great and so small. 

This doesn’t mean anything, either.

Eventually, in his own ways, the Hero seems to begin finding himself, though. A sense of unity, a sense of identity without being weighed down by finding the right words. It’s like he doesn’t have a care in the world, trying on personalities like costumes until something clicks in him. Perhaps spending time with someone who is as outwardly flamboyant as the Hero is inwardly has helped in this regard.

The Hero has never once asked Sylvia a single question, and Sylvia likewise, and yet they both seem to understand something intimate no one else does. It’s a secret everyone thinks they‘re in on, but never really will be. Despite everything, the Hero seems happier these days, at least, and that’s all Erik really cares about.

There’s limits to what Erik can do for him, after all, the limits of an individual existence. Now, their party is growing pretty noisy, and difficult to manage, with a colorful array of conflicting egos. But none wasted. Every meeting has its purpose, and Erik is also learning to open up more, since becoming seven.

Besides that, these two fools wouldn’t get very far alone. Not with regard to _the hero’s journey,_ but with regards to _things that don’t mean anything._

Of course, no self-respecting individual would ever blurt something like this out so directly, but their party is not the most graceful bunch of people. Not out of ill will, it’s just the natural flow of budding relations. 

It all seems to come to a head on Sylv’s boat, wading through the mess of mending a stranger's love affairs. 

Despite the Hero’s natural disposition, he’s perhaps the most invested, but there’s no reason behind this. To be honest, it’s a recent affliction of his, reading so much useless junk during their travels, a romance that can’t be said aloud just seems to call out to him. He can’t seem to put these kinds of books down. 

“Tell me, laddie—“ He looks over this rugged book when called out to by his grandfather. “Have ye found yerself a girlfriend yet?”

The Hero isn’t ignorant. Even if he struggles to express his feelings, he knows the expectations of society well enough. But he can’t contain the look of disgust that shoots from his face, quickly turning away, he covers it up by his hand with an awkward laugh. It’s not the girlfriend part, or anything, it’s the assumption; It reminds him exactly of the adults in Cobblestone. 

_Now all you two have to do is tie the knot…_ They must have misunderstood the type of troublesome child the Hero was. The more forcefully he’s pushed, the more he wants to rebel against it. It’s a silent bitter pill, and even if it’s unintentional, hearing it repackaged doesn’t make him any less frustrated.

“Why does it have to be—“

“Oh, come now.” Sylvia cuts him off before he even has a chance to voice it. Perhaps, for the better. “At a time like this, our cute Hero can’t be getting distracted by love, you knowww~.”

There’s something about the look the girls give him, though, that he doesn’t really understand at all. It only lasts a second, but it might as well have been a century; what does this mean? 

He knows exactly what it means. The Hero, after all, isn’t ignorant, but he’d rather be. 

“Wasn’t it just a wonderful story, though?” Serena hums softly, “Why, a mermaid and a man falling in love… It was just like a fairytale, wasn’t it!”

Just like that, the conversation continues onward, as though it’d never bumped with awkward tension at all. Not a single word steps offbeat, even if sometimes it seems unbearable. Somehow, he’s both happy and annoyed by it, and this is why it’s better just not to speak at all. 

The book has long since stopped being interesting, but if he stares at the words hard enough, he doesn’t have to make an effort to participate. 

Next time, he’ll get it right. Next time, his voice will be clear. Next time, he’ll figure out which words suit their circumstance. Next time… _Next time._

Such is the life of a teenager. Such a delicate, sensitive age. 

“Hey what’s with the face.” 

He jumps slightly when he hears his voice, only so loud because of proximity. “Ah… You surprised me…” The Hero says, without looking up he already knows. Lately, there are times Erik calls the Hero something like his destined partner of sorts, and the Hero isn’t really interested in these things, but it does seem like their wavelength is always in sync.

Whenever he’s annoyed, or doesn’t know what to say, Erik seems to give him twice as much troubles. 

“That outfit…”

“It looks good, right? You’re getting better at making this stuff.”

He recalls the time he’d started forging things with Erik’s gift to him. It’s less of a pain to keep around now that they have the boat, and he’s become pretty addicted to messing with it, experimenting with recipes he’s picked up in their travels. 

It’s a little strange to say he’s forged clothing and all, but he doesn’t really question it either. There’s some diversion if he says it’s for the other’s sake, but truthfully he just likes dressing up himself. 

Being cute isn’t exactly protective in battle, though. But in this case...

“I’m glad.”

…He’s grateful to see his work presented on such a beautiful person. It’s much less distracting, he’s mostly glad he doesn’t have to see Erik’s chest all day. 

His face is so warm.

“Hey,” Erik calls, loud enough to catch everyone’s attention. “Dinner’s ready, guys.” 

There must be a Goddess protecting Eleven, her chosen one for whatever it’s worth. Even though no one is that attentive, he can feel a thousand eyes haunting him even in his dreams. Especially in times like this. And maybe he’s hallucinating at this point, when Erik’s lips brush against the Hero’s ear— _is this what it felt like?_ He feels so guilty— _Is this what it felt like to tell him what I wanted to say?_ Whatever Erik is saying to him, it doesn’t register at all.

_Don’t forget to eat, too, okay?_

It doesn’t register at all. 

This room on the ship feels so massive when he lays alone in it. It’s dangerous to get too comfortable, there’s no telling when someone might barge in on this rare privacy, but it’s a risk the Hero willingly takes. 

“Erik…”

The scent is intoxicating. This is as close as the Hero can be to holding the boy in his arms properly. It feels both chaste and deviant at the same time. He curls awkwardly inward in his bed, with Erik’s shirt in his hands, his heart is bubbling. It’s not a bad sensation, even if it’s similar to dying.

It must be really easy to have your whole life laid out for you. _I’m a hero because I was born to be one._ It was predetermined, but it, too, took the original expectations of his life off their course. _Climb the Tor and become an adult. Marry Gemma because it’s what everyone expects you to do. Live happily in Cobblestone forever._ Where one thing has been decided, a million new doors are opened. 

Maybe _destiny_ isn’t all that, or maybe it only gets it right half of the time. It seems to make Erik happy to say their meeting is _like destiny,_ after all. What comes after, then, is all just a matter of personal effort.

_What a pain._

The Hero sits up with a huff, throwing Erik’s shirt on the ground where he’d found it, just like a man to be so messy. Erik’s practically the perfect wife otherwise, that’s the way they all tease him after all. He always says something arbitrary to pass it off, but his actual history is still an enigma to the Hero. Really, most of them are that way, he supposes even he is something of a stranger to himself. 

It’s best not to be hung up on the details, so says Sylvia. It’s made many aspects of his journey much smoother, not thinking about a single thing more than it warrants. 

But, it would be terrible to confess to someone you don’t absolutely, one-hundred percent, for certain _know_ likes you back, right? In this regard, his feelings, his identity, are all irrelevant. 

“Oh, I really want to, though!!”

That was said far too loud. Somehow, the Hero doesn’t care.

“I want to have a fairytale romance, too.”

The Hero is still immature, after all. He’s seen the vastness of the world, and all he wants is to focus on the fantasy. 

_I want to hold you. I want to kiss you. I want to spend my entire life with you._

As long as there’s no name attached, it doesn’t mean a thing. The fantasy can go on forever and ever as long as it doesn’t mix with realism.

One deep, long breath to seclude himself with. Laying flat on his back, arms wide open, how long can he hold his breath under water. When he learns the truth of that fairytale romance, it would seem the answer is better left unsaid. 

If the Hero were being honest, he didn’t really feel anything during the funeral ceremony for his parents.

It’s hard to articulate the feeling of mourning for someone he’s never met, but it’s equally difficult to understand someone who calls to him as a little brother by her memory alone.

But he also thinks it’s strange to have felt a way for a person he’d met in a castle dungeon, so it’s a little hypocritical of him to be judgmental. On the contrary, it’s been nice getting to know one another, and both of them find solace at the grave of his late birth parents. 

It’s a place he spends with her alone, whenever there’s something they can’t work out on their own, they come to them for release. It’s not like they’ll come back to him, or to her, and guide them in any significant way, but there’s something pleasant about being able to speak without fear of response, yet knowing you’re being listened to.

Every meeting has purpose, and each individual fills a unique role in someone’s life. No one person could ever know every detail of another, but everyone knows something the other doesn’t. The Hero doesn’t quite get this, but he knows there are things he can tell Jade and no one else.

“Can princes marry commoners?”

The Hero muses out loud, but not in the asking sense. It’s more like passing a ball back and forth, lightly, steadily, naturally. 

“If you're on the run, what does it matter?”

_Pass._

“Will you marry a common girl or a prince?”

_Pass._

“I’d like to focus on saving my father before anything else.”

_Pass._

“Can’t you multitask?”

_Pass._

“You’re terrible at multitasking.”

_Miss._

“Really? You think so?”

“She’s going to get tired of healing your wounds. Magic can only heal so much damage, you won’t live very long if you keep getting flustered in the middle of battles.

He’s chasing the ball down the hill. It’s true, it’s getting rather irritating even for him. What does he have to be so embarrassed about? Why can’t he focus on anything at all? 

Some of it is inherited. He understands that much.

But this is excessive.

“....I read a story about a princess who falls in love with a common thief.”

He can’t stop exchanging them with her. Fairytales of love and all their struggles. Some of them are actually rather engaging, maybe it is the Goddess will within him to stay such a pure heart that can freely love anyone he meets.

Love conquers all but itself, that’s what he thinks. Kindness can mend a fallen kingdom, and defeating the nondescript evil will bring happy faces to all its people, but there’s so much more to love than a single kiss that wakes the sleeping beauty.

What if the princess wishes to rest eternal? And what would he do if the warmth in his heart burnt out? What will he do if his love fades after confession?

Those fairytales are all so terrible, he thinks. They never explain a thing. 

“I read a story like that once. But I don’t want to marry a common boy, I want to marry a prince.”

“Is that right?” She smiles, “me too. I want to marry a pristine princess.” 

Lady Eleanor really would have loved this child, she thinks.

He always finds a way of surprising her, keeping the days lively seemingly effortlessly. Giving purpose to her life, allowing her to mentor him as best she can, as only an older sister can. Of course, she wishes they could have simply grown up in their respective kingdoms, worry free, but somehow this seems to be just as wonderful. 

The Hero has an odd relationship with inns and taverns.

Sometimes the energy of such a place is enough to release the inhibitions of anxiety. Sometimes it’s easy to be caught up in all the fun of being foolish in pairs, and other times it’s something like a nuisance. The noise that filters between his empty head is like being forcibly shoved beneath the ocean waves. There’s nothing to cling on to, just an endless slush of sounds that can’t be translated into words. 

And that, too, is in a way relieving. 

It’s a place where time is not a concept at all, and nothing really happens there as long as you don’t actually _say_ it did. Nobody wants to remember the imprudent things they did while they were drunk, and the people who drink to get drunk do it to throw away their memories. In that sense, it reminds him more of the confessions from the Church than it does anything else.

The Hero doesn’t drink, he’s a _good kid_ with _good morals,_ after all. The scent is inebriating alone, he thinks, turning his head that rests in the crook of Erik’s neck when Erik laughs. A heavy, breathy laugh. It’s distracting, dizzying, particularly unpleasant in its strength; his thoughts start to feel loose where they untwist aimlessly in his mind, and all that remains is an overflow of sensations. 

Once it starts buzzing, that’s always when the night is cut short. 

As a child, it’s easy to give whimsy to adulthood, to adult things and adult pleasures, but in the enigmatic transitional period between the two states, reality begins to settle in. It is neither good nor bad, it just is. For as loud, and as troublesome as it is, once the excess of stimulation halts a feeling of loss sets in. 

Nobody else is troubled by this, so the Hero counts tiles in the ceiling of the Inn Room they collectively share. There’s nowhere to hide here. 

The buzzing bred in a filled up tavern, or casino, are not so noticeable in the moment, but in a quiet room it’s absolutely deafening. These places coincide in the Hero’s mind, two unique experiences that can’t exist without the other. It’s not unpleasant, just different; _What will being home feel like after all this?_ The world is so much larger than vast landscapes, a ceremony is only the prelude to experience.

Not that it really matters now, he’s getting ahead of himself fantasizing about returning home when that home no longer exists. Maybe he should have—

“You wouldn’t have so much trouble sleeping if you drank a little.”

— _drank._ Of course, even now Erik seems to be on his wavelength. Whenever he’s feeling bothered, Erik’s always there; _somehow._ He wishes that this journey would never end, so he’d never have to conceive saying goodbye. _What will going home even mean, after all this?_

The Hero sits up, staring at Erik in his bed beside him. No matter how much time is spent together, how deeply the Hero looks into Erik’s eyes, he can’t understand him at all. The feeling, much like being in love, is mutual. He motions with his hand for Erik to come closer, grabbing his wrist as soon as he stands to pull Erik into his own bed; _what could it mean?_

This is also a confession to the Goddess that claims to love him so much, as to put this burden on him. In exchange for _saving the world,_ he only has a single wish. 

“Share the taste with me.” 

If the smell is so much more intoxicating than the drink, how venomous would it come from his lips. Even though he’d said it so confidently, he can feel his body shaking overtop of him, he wishes it were all a dream, that he didn’t have to wait for a response. That everything were so in his control he didn’t have to have feelings that conflict with the object of their affection. 

Infatuation is easy, love is impossible. 

“Why are you trembling?”

It’s much worse to hear it than to feel it.

He smiles awkwardly, collapsing atop of Erik, with his face shoved deeply into the pillow so as not to be perceived. He’s kind of laughing, and kind of sniveling, and kind of losing his mind all at once. Whatever he’s feeling, it’s all being drowned out and muffled in its feathery comfort, regardless. 

He prepares himself for the second act.

“Ahh… It’s no good. I should have gotten drunk, after all.”

The Hero turns his head to face Erik as he laments his lack of convictions. He can tell it’s taking everything in Erik’s power not to laugh, only for the Hero’s sake since they’d probably alert the whole room to their affair. That would really be a _one-hit K.O._

“That was a good show. Why don’t you rehearse it a little more.”

_Some consolation._

At least it’s progress. This is the closest he’s been to Erik since when it was only the two of them, sleeping under the stars on the run together. That warm feeling hasn’t changed at all, even in the months passed the candle’s still lit all the same. Their leaves are still wavering under the same gust of wind. 

This is… 

“I’ll wait.” 

A serious failure. 

It’s amazing what such few words can do to him. _Wait for what? I’m right here._ It’s not a candle, it feels like a star just bursted in his chest. He feels like he could run around all of Erdrea overnight. Or maybe he really is losing his mind entirely. It’s not a bad feeling, it’s just newfound determination. That is, the Hero is quite the sore loser, after all, shoving Erik off his bed without any empathy at all. His quiet, precious laughter is the worst part of it all. 

The Demonlord truly has nothing over this. 

The Hero gains far too much confidence from failure.

In truth, it’s probably just a means of disguising a lack-there-of, but he seems to be getting better at expressing himself concretely. He’ll probably change his mind again in another year, but this is the culmination of an adventure, after all. 

It’s still a ways from over, of course, but the end at least is in his sights. More questions are thrown behind him in the burning pile, more than happy enough just to be away from such a dreaded cold place. He calls it _dreaded,_ but he can’t get it off his mind, really. 

He supposes most of that harkens back to Erik, as many things do, but he can’t bring himself to pry, either. As Sylvia _always_ tells him, it’s best not to think too hard about the details. They all have their secrets, and the Hero is still burdening the most obnoxious one of all, in any case. 

_I like him. I really like him._

All those _things that don’t mean anything_ pile up like blocks in a tower, he’s carefully stacking and praying never falls. After such a pitiful confession, he feels he can swing the bat in any direction without a care in the world; Whether it strikes or not doesn’t matter. But he’d like to understand him better. 

_Why won’t you come in._ He was supposed to be asking Erik that, about that cold place, but it feels more like he’s asking it to himself. Another block on a leaning tower. It’s not like it _means_ anything, or anything. The more they feed each other the same lie over and over, the less real it feels. 

He knows it means something to him, that’s why he wants to know. He also knows it’s best just not to ask, that’s why he does anyway. That’s simply the way for which spoiled heroes process life. 

“Erik.”

The Hero rests his head in his palm, calling his self-proclaimed partner to the desk he’s been so focused at. There’s never any privacy in the party, single-rooms are cheaper, and none of them have any class. But even like this, it seems like everyone’s egos speak for themselves. 

The Hero has grown particularly comfortable with this mess— it’s chaotic harmony. Their quiet commentary on his life eases his mind a bit. His family just keeps growing, somehow.

Erik’s hand presses against the Hero’s shoulder where he leans over him. So rugged, this alone could recharge him, but… “What is it?” He asks, but the Hero responds as strangely as ever.

“Puff-puff.”

A soft, yet somehow irritant brush, fans out against Erik’s nose without much poise. The sudden sensation in combination with the powder it leaves behind makes him wanna sneeze; he just laughs instead.

“Heh, what’s that. You look cute.”

It’s just another budding hobby of his. Dressing up is fine enough on its own, but the girls that tease him from time to time in every town seem to have a talent for doing better by the Hero than gratifying him. 

But mostly, he enjoys the duality of it all. Just as he might swing the bat both ways, sometimes it’s better to mix together the colors than trying to pick between the pink room or the blue. Purple always did seem to suit him best.

It’s best not to get hung up on the details, that’s exactly what Sylvia had said to him when he asked, after all. That’s why they get along so well, sometimes two people can understand one another without ever knowing a single thing. 

When it comes to Erik, he’d like to know every single thing, though. And engrave each word in his heart. 

“Do you want to taste it?”

He says it out of the blue, without thinking, without listening to the rustling of every other leaf in the room. It’s not that they care, or that they don’t realize it yet, it’s just an open book without any words in it.

Still, Erik never let’s him off the hook, not even for a single second. 

“Directly or indirectly?”

“.............”

_I hate him. I really hate him._

He bites his lip to keep from screaming it into the mirror. 

“Indirectly.”

The Hero is too stubborn. When being pushed in one direction, he struggles just to walk the other way. Even if it’s the object of his affection doing the pushing. 

It’s fine no matter how they play with one another, as long as the game doesn’t end, there’s nothing to fear. The exhilaration of the chase makes the catch more rewarding, and if it’s never caught, the high never ceases. And sometimes, it really is best not to think too hard about these things.

_Because once you put a word on it, it can’t be taken back…_

In the face of mortality, a love that may one day burn out is less pleasurable than a hedonistic tease. Between the ages of childhood and adulthood, there’s no other possibility cleanly presented. No matter how well a mother bird raises a fledgling, there’s no first flight without errs. 

Besides that, there are some things more intimate than fleeting things like kissing. There’s no way of describing the overwhelming sensation of holding the boy you like’s face, and testing the limits of self control applying his lip gloss. 

At this point, a kiss almost feels childish. He wants a lot more than a kiss. 

“I’m in love with you.”

He really is loose with his lips, today. Even a good boy who doesn’t drink can sometimes get a buzz by proximity, or by an excess of hormones. Either or.

“I know.”

“Just like that? What am I supposed to do with that? _I know._ I know you know. Everyone knows.”

The Hero sighs, turning his eyes back to the mirror, reapplying the glossy artificial love to his own lips. _Indirect._ It’s unfair if only one of them gets to taste it.

“Right here.”

He says, looking at Erik only through the reflection. Erik is supposedly a thief, and supposedly one with quite the record, but he’s never come off that way to the Hero. Maybe he speaks a bit crudely, but he’s always so soft in the Hero’s light. 

Even now, there’s something so mature about him. Even if he isn’t, even if he doesn’t know much more than the Hero, sometimes just pretending is enough. It’s the placebo effect of self-confidence. As long as _someone_ believes in it, it must be true.

“Right here. I want to fill in the missing gaps of your heart.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve been rehearsing.”

Of course, Erik would laugh at this. But it’s not a mockery by any means, he’s entirely endeared to him, and he’d expected the Hero’s earnesty. “It’s good,” he says it with a smile in his voice, “You should join in on Sylv’s shows when this is all over. You’d look good in the outfit.”

“Eri…”

He’s cut off before he even has a chance to whine about it. _Directly._ Just as the Hero had imagined, it’s insulting, miniscule, _there’s so much more I want to do,_ but he swallows the taste without complaint. Even a kiss that only lasts a second leaves irreversible stains. 

“Sorry. I stole it.”

It’s like nothing’s changed at all, Erik giving him a wave before waltzing off. _Just like that,_ huh. This game is as fun as it is a pain in his ass. 

A part of him wishes the journey would never end, that they could stay just like this, in limbo, eternally. But with the taste of his lips tingling the Hero’s, he feels like he can’t get this over with soon enough. The _Demonlord_ or whatever won’t take more than an afternoon to be put in his place. That’s his new predetermined destiny, regardless of what any God has to say about it. 

As fast as he can run to catch the mouse, and eat its heart. 

He still doesn’t know what that entails, of course. He has nowhere to go when this is all over, and he surely doesn’t have any goals, but there’s always something exciting about traveling with Erik that maybe that alone could sustain them. It’s a nice thought, anyway.

He doesn’t even realize how bright his smile is, even when he’s staring at his own reflection. _How nice…_ He’s already decided his victory before the battle’s begun.

Maybe it’s true, the Hero shouldn’t be getting distracted with love. Maybe, they should stop making teenagers save the world, too. 

— ＊＊＊ —

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, comment, be safe and be nice to each other.
> 
> I can’t decide what to do with this fic anymore. For now, it’ll just exist here boringly. Thanks for reading nonetheless.


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